<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>you don't have to say you love me (i just wanna tell you something) by aloeverava</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24419002">you don't have to say you love me (i just wanna tell you something)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloeverava/pseuds/aloeverava'>aloeverava</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon verse, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of drugs and alcohol, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Responsible Iwaizumi, drunken oikawa, iwaoi - Freeform, not beta read we die like men, oikawa in a bathtub, they both say the L word</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:28:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,134</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24419002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloeverava/pseuds/aloeverava</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Oikawa learns that alcohol doesn't heal heartache and Iwaizumi is his (unplanned) designated driver.</p><p>Dialogue Prompt #21: “This might sound selfish, but I don’t care about the world - I only care about you!”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>☆彡 ask box fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you don't have to say you love me (i just wanna tell you something)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>does "i reread this about 2.3 times before slapping it onto my tumblr" count as "beta read?" no? okay.</p><p>prompt: #21, “This might sound selfish, but I don’t care about the world - I only care about you!”</p><p>one-shot request from my tumblr ;; i'm hairbleachwhore on there!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="">
  <p>“Iwa-channnn.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Iwaizumi only grunts in reply, trying to wrangle Oikawa’s uncooperating body out of the bathtub. The ace resists the urge to gag at the pungent odor wafting off of him — or maybe just this house in general — which is a mix of alcohol, sweat, and weed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Iwaizumiiiiii.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>“What?”</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>“Look at me,”</em> Oikawa whines. Iwaizumi obliges, sighing. “Wann know somethin’?” The setter grins up at him, his words slurred but his expression unsettlingly sobered.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sure,” Iwaizumi replies mostly just to humor him. Something about the sudden clarity in Oikawa’s expression has him genuinely curious, though. The brown-haired boy breathes deeply, blinking a few times before he can make solid eye contact with Iwaizumi. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><strong>“This might sound selfish, but I don’t care about the world - I only care about you!”</strong> Oikawa declares, lifting his solo cup into the air for dramatic effect. Iwaizumi quickly moves back, partly to avoid getting the drink spilled onto him, but also in surprise. He stares at his setter, put off by his words for some reason. He tries to tell himself that Oikawa is just spouting shit like he always does when he’s drunk, but the statement sends a strange pang through his chest.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Iwaizumi blinks at the mess of a boy lying in front of him, and finds himself admiring Oikawa’s beauty, even in his pitiful state. Distantly, he wonders if Oikawa means what he says, if Oikawa might reciprocate even just a fraction of his feelings. His mind draws up a fantasy of confessing his feelings right here, right now, in a stranger’s bathroom at two in the morning. He almost thinks it might be plausible with the chance that Oikawa has had enough to drink that he won’t remember a thing in the morning.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, jerking Iwaizumi out of his stupor.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Shut up, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi finally says, averting his gaze to avoid Oikawa’s stupid big brown eyes. He gently plucks the plastic out of the setter’s hands, and tosses it into the wastebasket. Slipping one of his arms over his shoulders, he manages to get them both to their feet.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Oikawa doesn’t do much to help, but Iwaizumi somehow navigates the two of them out the front door, shoving past the horde of similarly inebriated partygoers. He thinks he hears Oikawa mutter more drunken philosophical shit, but he can’t hear it over the thumping bass that rocks the entire house. The sound is still faintly reverberating in his head and chest even after he reaches his car, parked an entire two blocks away. Oikawa remains strangely silent the entire walk, which startles Iwaizumi a bit. Then again, he had never actually seen Oikawa shitfaced like this in their years of friendship.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The setter had always been a "partygoer," so to speak, but was adamant about staying away from drugs and alcohol, as his health took priority over everything for volleyball. So when Iwaizumi had received a near incoherent string of texts from the boy along with an unfamiliar address, he’d immediately been worried and raced out the front door with his car keys, no questions asked. He may have pushed the speed limit just a bit, but he was so fucking worried. Had it been one of his other teammates, this wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. But finding Oikawa— Oikawa, who preached the importance of abstinence in order to maintain his good looks— nearly passed out in a stranger’s bathroom disquieted him. But of course, he wouldn’t outwardly express his concern. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oi,” Iwaizumi says, jostling the boy clinging onto consciousness. He has the passenger door of his car open, and now all he has to do is get the lump that is Oikawa Tooru into the seat. Needless to say, the feat is much easier said than done. Oikawa groans, muttering something about aliens.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>After a few puking scares and a firm knock on the head, Iwaizumi finally has them both in the car. He glances at the boy, whose head rests against the window. His slumped figure looks oddly peaceful yet sad at the same time.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Never took you for a sleepy drunk, Crappykawa,” Iwaizumi mutters, starting the car.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“‘M not sleep,” Oikawa loudly groans, making Iwaizumi jump a bit. The corners of his mouth quirk up ever so lightly as he pulls the car away from the curb.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They drive in comfortable silence for a bit before Iwaizumi’s inner turmoil resurfaces. He glances at the boy in his passenger seat, checking to see if he’s awake.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Oikawa stares out the glass, unsettlingly quiet. Iwaizumi really never expected someone like him to be such a sad drunk. Or, at least, to look like one.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You look like someone just killed your dog,” Iwaizumi remarks. His hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter; it’s strange being the first to speak for once.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don’t have a dog, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa frowns.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Tch, I know that, dumbass.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A beat.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oikawa,” he says. The boy perks up a bit at the use of his actual name. “Why were you at that party?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Whadd’ya mean? I always go to parties! ‘M a <em>party animal</em>,” he replies. “I’m Oikawa <em>fuckin</em>’ Tooru,” He adds for emphasis. Iwaizumi painfully passes up the opportunity to make fun of him. Instead, he asks the question that’s been bothering him since he woke up to Oikawa’s drunk texting.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Shut up. I mean, why did I find you shitfaced in someone’s bathtub?” Iwaizumi asks, gesturing vaguely to Oikawa.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The ace expects him to say something along the lines of <em>Aww, Iwa-chan, you care!</em> Instead, Oikawa only hums in reply, his eyes slipping shut.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Iwaizumi, even more perturbed than before, decides he can’t bear the silence and goes to turn on the radio. But just as he’s about to press the button, Oikawa’s hand suddenly shoots out, grabbing his wrist.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The fuck, Shittykawa? I just want to play music,” He says, the light turning green before he can get a good look at the boy.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hold my hand.” He says, still gripping the other boy’s wrist.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Iwaizumi suppresses a small choking noise.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His eyes may be staring straight ahead, but his brain is sent into a frenzy at Oikawa’s request. He has to remind himself that the boy is drunk out of his mind, too far gone to realize the absurdity of his actions, in order to focus on the road.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Slowly, Iwaizumi lowers his hand to rest on the center console. Oikawa intertwines their fingers, letting out a content sigh.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The setter’s hands are cool and soft and Iwaizumi just knows they smell like vanilla, because that was what his moisturizer smelled like. Iwaizumi distantly wonders if he should feel sparks, or maybe a slight tingle. It doesn’t matter, though, because he’d prefer the sense of familiarity Oikawa brings him over that cheesy romance novel shit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>He’s drunk</em>, Iwaizumi reminds himself yet again. Nonetheless, heat rises to his face, and he hopes the passing streetlights aren’t bright enough to illuminate his flushed face. Not that Oikawa would care right now, of course.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Because it hurts,” He suddenly whispers at the next stoplight, tightening his grip on Iwaizumi’s hand.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“H-Huh?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Here,” He replies, lifting his free hands to rest against his left breast. Confusion flashes across Iwaizumi’s face, then heart sinks with the realization. Oh.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“They say drinking makes you - <em>hic</em> - numb, but it just h-hurts more…” He continues, trailing off to stare out the window once more.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Iwaizumi thought he couldn’t possibly feel worse until he made the mistake of looking over at Oikawa. His heart breaks for the second time that night.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“... Have you told her?” He asks tentatively.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No,” Oikawa replies, shaking his head.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh,” is all Iwaizumi can think to say. He knows he should be acting less like he doesn’t care and more like a friend in this situation, but the selfish part of him just wants to wallow in sadness for a bit. “Well, we’re here,” he announces, flicking off the headlights as he pulls onto Oikawa’s street. “Back window open?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mhm,” He hums in response.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>With the practiced maneuver of hopping Oikawa’s fence, squeezing through the window, and tiptoeing past his parents’ bedroom, the boys make it safely to Oikawa’s bedroom.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Oikawa makes a beeline for his bed, saying something incoherent about how tired he is. He practically throws himself onto the mattress, burying his face into the pillows and forgoing getting under the covers completely. Iwaizumi frowns.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Shittykawa.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mmf.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re going to catch a cold, dumbass.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“But ‘m sleepyyy,” He groans in reply.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Normally on a night like this, Iwaizumi could simply drop him off at his house and half-sincerely remind Oikawa that he owed him for the ride, then bid him goodnight. He could leave right now and just text him in the morning.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But tonight was different; he’d never had to drop off an Oikawa drunk off of his ass at home. Just leaving him there and letting him deal with the hangover seemed like it would teach him a good lesson about alcohol, but Iwaizumi wasn’t <em>that</em> cruel. He lingers in the doorway, debating what to do, if he should do anything at all.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Iwa-channn, door,” Oikawa says, his voice muffled by the pillows. Iwaizumi looks over at the boy, whose head is now turned just enough to face him, his eyes and mussed brown hair peeking over the pillow. He can’t help but think he looks really fucking cute right now. It really was a shame that Oikawa had asked him to leave.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Iwaizumi clears his throat. “Right,” He says, moving to leave, pulling the door shut with him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nooo!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Iwaizumi stops just as the door is about to click shut. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sticking his head back in to squint at Oikawa.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Shut the fuck up, you’ll wake up your parents,” he whisper-shouts. “What is it now?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>Door</em>,” He repeats. Jesus Christ, Oikawa Tooru really could be a five-year-old.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I <em>am</em> closing the door, dumbass—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nooo, Iwa-chan, stayyy,” Oikawa interrupts, his hand flopping against the bed next to him. When Iwaizumi doesn’t reply, he tosses back the covers, looking at his ace expectantly. “Pretty please?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Iwaizumi’s eyes go wide. This boy was going to be the death of him. Well, fuck it. <em>He’ll forget this in the morning, what’s the harm?</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hesitantly, the ace steps inside, making sure the door clicks shut as softly as possible behind him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“...Okay,” He whispers. Oikawa’s sleepy grin makes it worth it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Iwaizumi lies down next to Oikawa, his body rigid with tension. The last time they’d done this they had to have been eleven or ten, maybe younger.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He nearly jumps out of his skin when an arm snakes around his torso, pulling him flush against Oikawa’s chest. His face is buried into the crook of his neck. When he inhales, he realizes that Oikawa himself doesn’t smell all that bad; it was the overwhelming presence of the party masking the scent of his cologne and shampoo. If asked, Iwaizumi wouldn’t be able to describe the smell; all he knew was the warm feeling it produced in his chest that was so <em>Oikawa</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He lets himself relax, melting into the boy’s embrace.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hajime,” He whispers. The sound is barely audible, but to Iwaizumi he might as well have shouted.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The boy’s heart skips a beat, both at the sound of his given name and the feeling of Oikawa’s breath against his ear.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Goodnight,” Oikawa says. Within seconds, Iwaizumi can hear soft snoring. Goddammit, he even snores cute.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He looks down at the boy in his arms, and it makes his heart want to explode out of his chest. He has to say something to relieve the pressure.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I love you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <hr/>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Sunlight streams through the blinds, illuminating Iwaizumi’s peaceful expression. Oikawa lies on his side, his head propped up on his arm, tracing patterns into Iwaizumi’s shoulder with his other hand. He’s been like this for nearly half an hour, too lazy to get out of bed yet awake enough to greedily drink in Iwaizumi’s features. Maybe this was a little creepy, watching your best friend sleep, but Oikawa could care less, frankly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t remember what exactly happened last night, just that he was feeling especially shitty about his unrequited love and decided to test the “alcohol solves all your problems theory.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Evidently, Iwaizumi had gotten him home safely; of course it was the same reason that got hit shitfaced at a party that had taken care of him afterward. He feels a sudden overwhelming appreciation— no, not just appreciation— love for the boy, the very same feeling that placed him in some strangers’ house party last night. God, he didn’t deserve Iwaizumi.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thank you,” Oikawa whispers to the sleeping boy. Then, a bit wistfully, he adds,</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I love you.”</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for tuning into this episode of "Ava Writes a One-Shot because she has Writer's Block for her other Fics" !!</p><p>(did anyone catch the longass title reference lol)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>